


A Sticky Mess

by nottoolateforthegame



Series: 31 Days of Porn 2017 [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Plug, Breeding, Come play, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Possessive John Watson, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 15:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13814397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nottoolateforthegame/pseuds/nottoolateforthegame
Summary: Fill forAtlinMerrick’s31 Days of Porn ChallengePrompt #12: Breeding.Porn thats just a bit crackish. John claims Sherlock on Dimmock's desk, in Molly's morgue and on top of Irene's couch, filling him with come and plugging him up each time.





	1. Cover for A Sticky Mess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pochiperpa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pochiperpa/gifts), [sharpie666](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharpie666/gifts).



> Was feeling a bit of writer's block after a too long break from writing and read a Tumblr post by AO3 Comment of the Day that suggested just banging out something fun and maybe a bit crackish that was no pressure to get back in the game. So I jumped right in, wrote this whole thing in one night, then spent a week editing and revising so it made enough sense to share, lol. 
> 
> For sharpie666, Pochipera and everyone else who enjoyed Used and Sticky. May this tide you over until I actually write the longer, plottier Dom/sub fic that I _will_ write (someday).


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock’s low moan filled the air as he felt the plug pop out of his hole. A trickle of come slid down his thigh, proof that John had already had him, filled him just hours before. John’s finger slid against the trail, scooping up come and pressing in, putting it back in place as he slid his finger around inside of Sherlock, testing how open and wet he still was. He pulled his finger out and Sherlock gasped as he felt John’s cock press against and then into him in one smooth glide.

John set a quick pace, thrusting hard against Sherlock’s bent form. Sherlock braced himself against the desk beneath him, spreading his legs as far as he could with his trousers and pants still around his thighs. John’s fingers grasped his hips tightly, pulling Sherlock back on his cock with every thrust, ensuring John was buried to the hilt each time. John began to grunt with each thrust, low and guttural. Sherlock knew John was trying not to make noise, didn’t want to get caught, much as the potential for getting caught fed John’s darker, danger loving side. Soon, John began to thrust in earnest against Sherlock, sharp, powerful thrusts that brought Sherlock to his toes and had him arching his back deeply. He felt John spill inside him, hot and wet and then John was leaning over him, arms braced on either side of his body on the desk.

After a moment, John slid out of him and dropped to his knees, and Sherlock whimpered as he felt John’s hot breath there. Alas, John was merely teasing him, and after just a few moist, heated puffs of breath, John hummed and then Sherlock felt the plug sliding back into place. John helped him pull up his pants and trousers, and they both set themselves to rights. 

John stepped up and gave him a quick kiss. “You’re doing so well, love. You’re going to be so full of me by the time we get home. God. Next time, we’ll have to do it somewhere I can play a little longer. I love how you feel when you’re full of my come.”

“Well, Dimmock won’t be back for another ten minutes at least.”

John groaned. “God, don’t tempt me sweetheart.”

* * *

Sherlock buried his face in his arms as John buried his face in Sherlock's arse. John's tongue flickered against his hole, dipping in teasing thrusts into the loosened opening. All too soon John pulled back, his playful licks becoming playful nips to Sherlock’s arse cheeks before he spread them.

Sherlock knew John must be looking at him, watching his hole twitch. He tried to imagine what John was seeing-Sherlock's hole gaping and wet, loosened and filled with John's come. Perhaps a bit rosier than its usual pinkened hue, thanks to their play today.

John groaned and leaned in to bite Sherlock’s arse. Then he thrust two fingers into Sherlock, scissoring and twisting.

“Christ, you're so wet, so full of  _ me _ . Look.”

John pulled out his fingers, holding his hand out so Sherlock could see the come coating them. John opened his fingers and Sherlock could see it spread between them, oozing and thick. He wanted to lick, to taste.

“Please.”

“What do you want, love?” John's other hand settled at the small of Sherlock's back, warm and steady.

Sherlock felt heat spread across his chest and up his neck. John claimed he wanted Sherlock to ask for what he wanted when they were together like this. Still, Sherlock couldn't help the embarrassment that filled him.

He licked his lips. “I want to taste it. I want to taste  _ you _ .” his words were a hoarse whisper.

John groaned, then shifted forward, offering the proffered fingers to Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock latched on, tongue sliding between the digits as he sucked John's fingers deep. He laved and suckled, savoring the flavor of John and himself, eyes closing in pleasure.

John groaned again. Sherlock felt it vibrate through John’s chest against Sherlock's back. He could feel the heat of John pressed against him, warm and solid. John’s cock was pressed against his arse cheeks, hot and hard. Sherlock felt it twitch and leak as he swirled his tongue around John’s fingers and hummed.

John pulled his fingers away. Sherlock let his head drop to his arms again. John returned to his examination, alternating between toying with Sherlock's rim and probing deep. 

“God, John! Hurry up and fuck me. Fill me! I need-” Sherlock's voice cut off on a high whine as John twisted his fingers inside Sherlock and circled over his prostate.

“I know what you need, love.” John's low, confident voice sent a shiver snaking down Sherlock's spine.

John pulled his fingers out and maneuvered Sherlock over onto his back. Earlier he had removed Sherlock's trousers completely, though he had insisted Sherlock keep his shirt on as a barrier against the cold air of the morgue. John had also spread Sherlock's coat beneath him atop the cold steel table before positioning Sherlock atop it. John lifted Sherlock's left leg high, settling his knee over John's right shoulder. He pushed Sherlock's right knee out before wrapping that leg around his waist.

John slipped tantalizingly slowly into Sherlock before he began to roll his hips. John's long, thick cock dragged across Sherlock's prostate, a sensuous slide that had him keening in minutes. His head tossed against his coat, neck arching, hands bunching in the material beneath him.

Just as he thought he might actually explode from the sensation, John stilled. Sherlock opened his eyes, surprised to find he’d closed them. John’s expression was predatory, possessive. When Sherlock’s eyes met his, a wicked grin spread across John’s face.

“We’re not done yet, sweetheart. I love making you feel good, but you don’t get to come just yet.”

And then John dragged Sherlock so his arse was nearly hanging off the table and pushed his legs up to his chest. Sherlock was pressed against the table, arse exposed to be used as John saw fit. John changed the angle of his thrusts and increased the pace. He was no longer pressing against Sherlock’s prostate, but was reaching deep. Sherlock could hear the slap of flesh as John’s balls met his arse. John wasn’t nearly as quiet in here-no one could hear them and Molly had left early for the day.

“Fuck. Yes. Gonna come. Gonna fill you up. Shit. You’re fucking perfect. Take it so good. Fuck. Sherlock. Fuck. Shit-shit-shi-!!!” John’s words bit off as he began spurting inside Sherlock. His hips continued moving, and on each outward roll come spilled out, making a mess of Sherlock’s arse and thighs and hitting the floor.

When John finally came back to himself, he began laughing.

“Gods. This might just kill me, love.”

* * *

“C’mere love.”

Sherlock walked across the room and straddled John’s lap. Once again, John had surprised him as no one ever had. When Sherlock had realized which neighborhood they were in, he had thought, perhaps, John meant for them to do this in the alley, or even, perhaps, on the porch (this time of night, most people were home and inside, eating dinner or watching tellie or bathing grubby kids). Instead, John had taken out Sherlock’s lockpick set and opened the door, disabling the alarm with a code Sherlock couldn’t decipher how he had gained.

Once inside, John had steered him into the sitting room and ordered him to strip. Sherlock had complied quickly, eagerly. John had seated himself on the white couch, unzipping his fly and taking his cock out before calling Sherlock over with a pat to his lap. Once Sherlock was straddling him, John positioned him so that he was up on his knees and reached between his legs to pull the plug out. He wasted no time on playing with Sherlock this time, instead immediately pulling Sherlock down onto his cock. They both groaned as Sherlock sank down.

“Christ, you feel so good, sweetheart. You have been so good for me, all day.” John's lips drifted from Sherlock's lips to his jaw, then his neck, where he began nibbling and sucking. “So fucking good. For me, only me.”

John's hands tugged at Sherlock's hips and Sherlock began moving, undulating on top of John as he rode John's cock. John groaned and began kneading Sherlock's arse cheeks. Sherlock arched his neck as John continued to suck and bite, leaving a trail of red marks, some of which would no doubt bruise overnight.

When John was satisfied with his work, he sat back, eyes glintung as he watched Sherlock writhing over him. His hands rested on Sherlock's hips, thumbs stroking lazily as he watched Sherlock's hips roll and chest heave. Soon Sherlock was panting and sweaty, thighs trembling.

Suddenly, John's hands tightened on Sherlock's hips, holding him down. Then he began to piston up into Sherlock. Sherlock clutched at Johns shoulders, holding tight as John’s thrusts threatened to unseat him. The burning ache in his arse went from pleasant throb to just this side of too much. He whimpered as John’s hands tightened even further-tomorrow he would no doubt have John’s fingerprints embedded in the skin over his waist and hips.

“You. Are. Mine.” John growled out each word in time with his thrusts. “Mine. Only. Mine. No. One. Else. Just. Me.” and then John was coming again, groaning long and deep as he buried his face against Sherlock’s sweat slicked chest.

Sherlock trembled in John’s arms, desperately trying to regain control of his racing heart and ragged breathing. After a few moments, John sat back, peering up at him. John's eyes were warm, his expression soft as he reached up and cupped Sherlock’s jaw.

“You are doing so good, sweetheart. You are perfect.”

Sherlock ducked his head as heat stained his cheeks. John slid his hand to Sherlock’s nape, pulling him close to rest on John’s shoulder. Once he was settled, John began rubbing slow circles across his back, occasionally running his hands down the outsides of Sherlock’s thighs. Sherlock focused on breathing, every inhale pulling John’s musky scent deep into his lungs. He let himself drift, content to simply be held by John and breath him in.

Eventually, John stirred beneath him, planting a kiss to Sherlock’s temple before his hands urged Sherlock to rise again.

“Let’s plug you up and get you home, sweetheart.”

Sherlock waited patiently while John replaced the plug, then let himself be dressed. He followed John from the building and leaned against him in the cab. They would be home soon.

* * *

John guided Sherlock down the hall to their bedroom. Sherlock had gone under at the end of the last session, no doubt thanks to the bit of snuggling there at the end. It had been a long day; John was surprised Sherlock had held out for as long as he had.

He undressed Sherlock slowly, placing soft kisses to his skin as it was revealed. Once Sherlock was nude, John guided him to the bed and laid him down. He sat on the bed, near Sherlock’s head, reaching out to comb his fingers through Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock smiled up at him dreamily.

“You were so good for me today, love. Let me use you and fuck you and fill you.” John’s fingers drifted from Sherlock’s curls across his cheek, thumb stroking Sherlock’s lush lower lip. “You gave yourself to me over and over and now it’s time for me to give you what you need.” Sherlock moaned, his lips parting so his tongue could taste John’s thumb. John pressed his thumb in, breath quickening as he watched Sherlock’s eyes close in bliss as he sucked John’s thumb, tongue swirling around it as he drew it in.

Much as he had wanted to fuck Sherlock one more time, he had noticed how red and swollen Sherlock was when he had inserted the plug last time. He almost hadn’t placed it back in, but Sherlock would have hated coming home with come dripping down his legs and he had been so far under John had figured he wouldn’t wiggle enough to cause the plug to shift much on the way home (John had been right, Sherlock was deep enough under to have stilled his mind and body). But he wouldn’t be fucking him again tonight. He would never forgive himself  if he actually injured the love of his life, especially while they played like this. Bruises, welts, rope burn-those were one thing; tearing was another.

John pulled away after placing a gentle kiss to Sherlock’s lips and stripped, grabbing the lube off the side table before climbing up against the headboard and settling Sherlock against his chest. Sherlock rolled his head to press his face against John’s neck, slouching back against John in a boneless sprawl.

“Open your legs baby.” Sherlock’s legs fell open and John slid his hands down to his thighs and spread them further. Sherlock gasped a hot breath against John’s neck as John eased the plug out. “Shhh….it's alright sweetheart. I know that didn’t feel so good. I’m gonna make it all better. Shh…”

John continued to whisper reassurance and praise into Sherlock’s ear as he began running his hands up and down Sherlock’s chest, toying with his nipples and scratching lightly at his stomach. Once Sherlock had melted back against him, John slicked up his hands, rubbing them together to warm the lube. Then he wrapped one hand around Sherlock’s cock while the other began to cup and tease his testicles.

John kept his grip light at first, just slow drags that slid his foreskin up into a pout before dragging it back down to reveal the plump, pink head of his cock. Soon, Sherlock was fully hard and arching into John’s touch, hot breath panting against John’s neck. John firmed up his grip and began sliding faster, adding a pass of his palm across the head on every few passes.

“That’s it love. You are so fucking gorgeous like this. I love you so fucking much. Gonna make you feel so good, like you made me feel so good today. You’re gonna make a mess of your stomach like I made a mess of your arse. Can you feel it leaking out all over us? Gonna smear it all over both of us, then I’m gonna smear your come all over you. You’ll be covered in come.”

John’s words were hot against Sherlock’s ear, sending a shiver down his back that spread through his groin. The image of himself, covered in John’s come all over his back, and his own all over his front had him keening and arching deeper.

“Please, John. Please.”

“Yes, love. That’s it.” John’s hand quickened and the hand pumping Sherlock’s cock, and his other hand slid further back, pressing ever so carefully against Sherlock’s perineum. “Come on baby. Come for me.”

Sherlock arched up so far he nearly pulled free of John’s grip. A wordless shout escaped his lips as he began spurting long, thick ropes of come across his chest. As he fell back against John’s chest, John continued to pump him with one hand while his other gripped Sherlock’s hip, grounding him against John.

When Sherlock was finished twitching and leaking, John hummed a deep low rumble in his chest as his arms came around Sherlock’s stomach and chest, smearing come everywhere they touched. Good to his promise, he soon had Sherlock covered in come. Sherlock was a sticky mess, and it was perfect. John held Sherlock close, satisfaction finally reaching his very core. Sherlock was his. No one had ever had him before John. And John never intended to give him up. His perfectly imperfect husband. John’s hand wove through Sherlock’s, their rings glinting in the low light of the bedroom. John stroked his finger over his husband’s ring, satisfaction and exhaustion finally sending him off to sleep.


End file.
